“I wish he would,” said Mrs. Dexter. “I have some work to do, Larry,” she added. “You, mother?” “Yes, a lady on the floor above does sewing for a factory. It happened that one of the women who works in the place is sick, and our neighbor thought of me. I went to the shop, and I got something to do.” “But I don’t like to have you work in a shop, mother,” objected Larry. “I am to do the sewing at home,” went on Mrs. Dexter. “I cannot earn much, but it is better than nothing, and it may improve in time.” “Maybe I can get a job diggin’ gold somewhere,” put in James. “If I do I’ll give you a million dollars, mommer.” “I’m sure you will,” said his mother, giving him a hug. “Maybe I could sew some,” spoke Lucy, from the chair where she was sitting, propped up in cushions. “I’d like to see us let you!” exclaimed Larry. “You just wait, I’ll get a job somehow!” But, though he spoke boldly, the boy was not so certain of his success. He was in a big city, where thousands are seeking work every hour, and where opportunities to labor do not go long unappropriated. But Larry was hopeful, and, though he worried somewhat over the prospect of the little family coming to grief in New York, he had not given up yet, by any means, for this was not his way. Late that night Larry went out and bought a copy of the _Leader_. On the front page, set off by big headlines, was the story of the fire and explosion. The boy felt something of a part ownership in the account, and was proud to think he had helped, in some small measure, to provide such a thrilling tale. For the fire proved a disastrous one, in which three men were killed and a number seriously hurt. The papers, for two days thereafter, had more stories about the blaze, and there was some talk of an investigation to see who was responsible for having so much oil and varnish stored in the place, which, it was decided by all, was the cause of the worst features of the accident. During those two days Larry made a vain search for work. But there never seemed to be such a small number of positions and so many boys to fill them. The third day, after a fruitless tramp about the city, Larry found himself down on Park Row, near the Post Office. He looked at one of the many tall buildings in that locality, and there staring him in the face, from the tenth story of one, were the words: New York Leader. “That’s my paper,” Larry thought with a sense of pride. Then the idea came to him to go up and see Mr. Newton, the reporter. It was nearly five o’clock, and this was the hour Mr. Newton had mentioned. Larry did not exactly know why he was going in to see the reporter. He had some dim notion of asking if there was not some work he might get to do. At any rate, he reasoned, it would do no harm to try. Accordingly he entered the elevator, and asked the attendant on what floor the reporters of the _Leader_ might be found.